He would sit in his inner
office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly
conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with
her when he met her face to face. Their conversation degenerated again and again
into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. 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. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible
dimple peeped out. He had now reached
what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison
contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen
feet high. He not only failed in
making any impression, but seemed to increase the difficulties, for after an
hour's toil he had broken the nail and slightly bent the iron bar. 8. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 07-07-2024 12:05:12