gutenberg. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. As soon as the manacles were slipped over the prisoner's wrists, and the new padlock secured to the staple, they withdrew. “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final.
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