Some years after the date of this history, an immense ventilator was placed at the top of the Gate, with the view of purifying the prison, which, owing to its insufficient space and constantly-crowded state, was never free from that dreadful and contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the jail-fever. Ruth sighed; Spurlock stood up and drew his hand across his forehead as if awakening from a dream. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. Not a breath was drawn. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said.
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