As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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