Nothing at all. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. Just so had his subordinates shown their apprehension. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. On the left lay the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy cloud marked the position of the metropolis. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone.
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