And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. “I want to inquire,” said Ann Veronica. Let’s go up to my room. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey. He smiled at Ruth as she turned away from the bed, smiled with both his mouth and eyes; and she knew that here would be a man of heart as well as of science. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. “You!” said Ann Veronica. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. “We must go. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. Stop it!” Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her.
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