There was nothing to be learned from her face. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St.
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