“Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. Lucy knocked again. “If they matter to you, they matter.
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