She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. “Ah!” said Ramage, impressively. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers.
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