Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. Wood's. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. Aunt and niece regarded each other silently.
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