It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. "Your sympathy is being wasted. I am clear I want you.
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