The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. ” “But, my dear Peter!” said Miss Stanley. " This placard attracted universal attention. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her.
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