The last few months had not dealt kindly with Mr. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary.
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