123 It didn’t take long. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. I have the right also to throw you out. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good.
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