She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. We'll have him yet.
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