One day it was gone. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. With incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. "I didn't awake you, because you seemed tired.
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