The musician. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. ” He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Let’s go on climbing now. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. Sheppard put out her arms mechanically.
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