More than ever Sir John was glad that he had sat down. In a sense it alters nothing. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright.
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