To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury.
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