‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. It was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of St. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. She felt a new warmth in her blood, a strange sense of elation crept over her.
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