Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. He felt the first sting of the whip. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. The wall was of considerable thickness, and built altogether of stone; and the noise he was compelled to make in using the heavy bar, which brought sparks with every splinter he struck off, was so great, that he feared it must be heard by the prisoners on the Debtors' side.
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