‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. With a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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