She and I were very close. Stanley considered. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. She’s right upstairs. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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