Do you indeed remember? The smell of decay and cheap methylated spirit!. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
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