With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. ‘Troops?’ ‘Go, man,’ urged the major in an undervoice. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. And she found herself able to do nothing of the sort. And, thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room.
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