Um. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. "I understand," she said.
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