The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. “She is living there now,” she remarked. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. I got three pounds, and there’s three on my watch. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. “I have scarcely left his side. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent.
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