Each time that we meet I try to kill you. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good. All this was the work of a minute. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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