Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. "Back!" he cried fiercely.
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