In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately. Take your pick, Mrs. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t.
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