He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth. "I believe I'll tear them up. Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. Playing became a way of escape. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken.
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