It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. \"You cannot know how frustrated I have become. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. Nothing else weighs against it.
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