But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill.
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