“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders. As time wore on, and they did not return, Mr. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose.
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