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 writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. She continued to fan herself. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur.
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