Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. "Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. "How?" cried her brother, starting. .
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