Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. I knew it. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. Her lips parted, but no words came. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that.
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