mafia king

he lids of the girl's eyes lifted slowly, and she stared at thepanel of light in the wall. Just at the outset, the act ofseeing made not the least impression on her numbed1 brain. For along time she continued to regard the dim illumination in thewall with the same passive fixity of gaze. Apathy2 still lay uponher crushed spirit. In a vague way, she realized her owninertness, and rested in it gratefully, subtly fearful lest sheagain arouse to the full horror of her plight3. In a curioussubconscious fashion, she was striving to hold on to thisdeadness of sensation, thus to win a little respite4 from thetorture that had exhausted5 her soul. Of a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lineOf a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black line. ...Of a sudden, her eyes noted6 the black lines that lay across thepanel of light. And, in that instant, her spirit was quickenedonce again. The clouds lifted from her brain. Vision was clearnow. Understanding seized the full import of this hideous7 thingon which she looked.... For the panel of light was a window, sethigh within a wall of stone. The rigid8 lines of black thatcrossed it were bars--prison bars. It was still true, then: Shewas in a cell of the Tombs. The girl, crouching9 miserably10 on the narrow bed, maintained herfixed watching of the window--that window which was a symbol ofher utter despair. Again, agony wrenched11 within her. She didnot weep: long ago she had exhausted the relief of tears. Shedid not pace to and fro in the comfort of physical movement withwhich the caged beast finds a mocking imitation of liberty: longago, her physical vigors had been drained under stress ofanguish. Now, she was well-nigh incapable12 of any bodilyactivity. There came not even so much as the feeblest moan fromher lips. The torment13 was far too racking for such futilefashion of lamentation14. She merely sat there in a posture15 ofcollapse. To all outward seeming, nerveless, emotionless, anabject creature. Even the eyes, which held so fixedly16 their gazeon the window, were quite expressionless. Over them lay a film,like that which veils the eyes of some dead thing. Only anoccasional languid motion of the lids revealed the life thatremained. So still the body. Within the soul, fury raged uncontrolled. For all the desolate17 calm of outer seeming,