Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. F.
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