He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Fortescue, with a bow. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. Lord, I am sixty. ‘The secret passage!’ It did not take long to find the mechanism of the candlesconce that opened the door. At this place of refuge, situated in the heart of Wapping, near the river-side, he arrived in less than an hour, in a complete state of exhaustion.
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