As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. Every one has to make a deal with the world. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. They’ve just got to keep white. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink.
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