" The hint was not lost upon Wood. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Because for the punishments je m’en moque. Absolutely. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand.
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