It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. “On the stage? Yes. "But I can guess what it's for. . I don't want her hurt.
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