Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. . . . “I confess it. “When it comes there is no mistaking it. He will let you live if it pleases him. She knew now that he never would. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard.
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