’ He thought a wary look came into her face, but it was difficult to be sure. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Never mind. His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet. “Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse.
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