"At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. ‘Not kill me, I mean. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. There is something sensual in the thought of lotus flowers.
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