A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. . ” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. Of you, I mean. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Relief flooded her.
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