"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. .
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