“Your teeth are chattering! I’ll make you some hot chocolate!” Cathy cried. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it.
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