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His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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