The wards on the right were occupied by male patients, on the left by the female. Glancing at each other, they rose from their seats and ventured to address the captain. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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