Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. We married, and for a time we were happy. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. “I will not have this slavery,” she said. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time.
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