‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. But it was only six-thirty. She knew she was a monster and so did they. As his death was by no means what Jonathan desired, he resolved to remove him to a more airy ward, and afford him such slight comforts as might tend to his restoration, or at least keep him alive until the period of execution. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled.
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