She would write to Gerald. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. “I am already so hungry that I shall begin on the petit pains. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. We must always move on.
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