“This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. However, the scheme answered well enough, for Darrell has got off with his own brat. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk.
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