The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be lost. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory.
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