It was
better than sitting still. She had heard of prisoners who had kept
themselves sane in a dark dungeon by throwing away a few pins they
had, and finding them again. It was a famous prisoner who did that. It
was the prisoner of Quillon--no, "quillon" had something to do with a
sword--no, it was Chillon. Then she felt dizzy again, and steadied
herself against the statue, and presently groped her way back to her
seat. She almost fell, when she sat down, but saved herself and at
last succeeded in getting to her original position. It was not that
she was faint from hunger yet; her dizziness was probably the result
of cold and weariness and discomfort, and most of all, of the
unaccustomed darkness.
She was ashamed of being so weak, when she listened to the steady
strokes, far off, and thought of the strength and endurance it must
need to do what Malipieri seemed to be doing so easily. But she was
very cold indeed, chilled to the bone and shivering, and she could not
think of any way of getting warm. She rose again, and struck one of
the matches he had given her, and by its feeble light she walked a few
seconds without feeling dizzy, and then sat down just as the little
taper was going to burn her fingers.
A few minutes later she heard footsteps overhead, and saw a faint
light through the hole.
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