They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. " "Faix, then we'll do it in style," cried the fellow. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. Jackson, to the swig. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried.
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