“Not to-night,” she said. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. She swallowed hard. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. And if you mean to use that dagger to slip the lock, you’ll make enough noise to bring ten spies down on us.
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