"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. " So saying, he descended a short spiral staircase, and, entering a long stone gallery, from which several other passages branched, took one of them, and after various turnings—for he was familiar with all the intricacies of the prison— arrived at the cell of which he was in search. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. Don’t, don’t say anything now, not anything. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. ” And Ann Veronica’s face was hot.
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