It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. ‘Come along. You foolish girl!” Ann Veronica took that in silence. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. On the way he confessed. Plote was sleeping or deaf.
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