The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. A narrow passage at the north of the Stone Hall led to the Bluebeard's room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the reckless crew who were compelled to pass it. I knew it. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. ’ ‘Ah. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales.
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