Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. A glance satisfied Jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the prisoner's escape; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered a good jest, by a premature disclosure of it.
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