Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Before her was a great Gothic portal. .
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