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At last—I told a story. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. 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. ‘I do not know. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. I know something about men.
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