She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it contained a tip. The floor was thickly strewn with sawdust and shavings; and across the room ran a long and wide bench, furnished at one end with a powerful vice; next to which three nails driven into the boards served, it would appear from the lump of unconsumed tallow left in their custody, as a substitute for a candlestick. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth.
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