For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less.
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