Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. “Time for my Patience,” she said. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole.
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