Look here. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate.
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