The two lovers sat together, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated mother. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. 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. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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