The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. The thought had not even occurred to him. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously.
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