“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. I won’t even ask. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. ‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. It is so that I may marry an Englishman. My heart misgives me. O'Higgins and I landed at Copeley's yesterday; and Mr.
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