He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword.
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