The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. Her fingers rested upon his. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. 176 “No, it’s very good. Perhaps that was why Sheila began to observe Lucy, because both of them were poignantly aware of Lucy’s otherness. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father.
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