She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. I am loved. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She began to weep in long, aching sobs.
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