"His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. The thought of beauty became an obsession. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. She felt sleepy and unusually irritable. But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally. . ’ ‘Addlepated imbecile, Hilary,’ corrected Gerald calmly.
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