He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. She breathed deeply. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. The place for reading. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. “I confess it. ” He examined the emerald in his hands and placed it carefully on the glass table. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him.
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