Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. Then, her body still tense with the atoms of anger, she sat down upon the edge of the bed and rocked from side to side. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt.
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