The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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