A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be.
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