’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. "I have nothing. Luck. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. The cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were.
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