The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. He even thought he could detect the voice of Jonathan, urging and directing them. A quarter of an hour passed.
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