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. Meantime, a change had taken place in the weather. Here one might live the life of golden days. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. The room in which he was detained—that lately occupied by the Mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart,—was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust.
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