Let’s go up to my room. “Dare!” she said. " "It matters not. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. The Times slipped from his fingers.
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