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she could see it--for she had no reason to distrust her father

She was there in good ti across the road at these

walls which are, properly speaking, awful You do indeed seeles of the unholy bulk, the fall of tientle and implacable

slowness And a voicelesslike a drea and mortal like poison

When de Barral came out she experienced a sort of shock to see that he

was exactly as she reed You come out in the sa for her No doubt he was Whether he recognized

her? Very likely She crossed the road and at once there was reproduced

at a distance of years, as if by soht so

fahton of the financier de Barral walking

with his only daughter One comes out of prison in the same clothes one

wore on the day of conde one has been put away

there Oh, they last! They last! But there is so which is

preserved by prison life even better than one's discarded clothing It

is the force, the vividness of one's sentiments A monastery will do

that too; but in the unholy claustration of a jail you are thrown back

wholly upon yourself--for God and Faith are not there The people

outside disperse their affections, you hoard yours, you nurse theet in the es of free life, you hold on to, arowth of memories They can look with a smile at the troubles and pains

of the past; but you can't Old pains keep on gnawing at your heart, old

desires, old deceptions, old drea you in the dead stillness

of your present where nothing moves except the irrecoverable minutes of

your life