“What are we going to do?” said Capes, with his eyes on the broad distances beyond the ribbon of the river. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. Yes—as he would have liked. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course.
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