Some years after the date of this history, an immense ventilator was placed at the top of the Gate, with the view of purifying the prison, which, owing to its insufficient space and constantly-crowded state, was never free from that dreadful and contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the jail-fever. So I set out to find you, even if it cost ten times sixteen thousand. You’re mine. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day.
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