Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. "Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high.
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