When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. They had been so considerate of the earth they had touched that they barely left a footprint. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care.
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