Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. That is what my mother used to call me. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. . The unfortunate prisoner, meanwhile, who was not informed of the respite, languished in his horrible dungeon, and, at the expiration of three weeks, became so seriously indisposed that it was feared he could not long survive.
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