A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him.
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