Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it.
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