“Too bad to keep you waiting,” Annabel exclaimed. "Prisoner at the bar," thus ran the sentence, "you shall be taken to the prison from whence you came, and put into a mean room, stopped from the light; and shall there be laid on the bare ground, without any litter, straw, or other covering, and without any garment. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. For a moment O'Higgins had hoped that the ink applications would be recent. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him.
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