Sepulchre's. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Before he re-entered the prison, he hesitated from a doubt whether he was not fearfully increasing his risk of capture; but, convinced that he had no other alternative, he went on. Winifred screamed. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Never mind that now.
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