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Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. But I may yet live to thwart them. But it's confounded inconvenient. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. No— no, it must never be. There was a young lad ahead of her. And I think I will indeed blow off your imbecile head. "Ah! now we come to business," returned Jonathan, rubbing his hands, gleefully. .
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