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. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. Mary is very good, but she is too nervous to be the slightest protection. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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