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"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence. Ramage?” he asked. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks.
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