Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. She rapped again, louder. The thing is done. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving.
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