"Without proper medical care, he would have been dead by morning. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. “I knew of course that you were at the Montressor’s, but I had no idea that it was a music hall party afterwards. It is not so. “When did you get home last night, Lucy?” Cathy interrogated through a yawn. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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