When he returned, it was always the same. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. It was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of St. Good night. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them.
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