These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. “I think that I know very well what I am saying,” she answered. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. We understand that, notwithstanding the serious nature of the man’s injuries, there is every possibility of his recovery.
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