Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. She turned there and beckoned. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. . She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger.
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