Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. She was, she guessed, close to the library.
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