I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. See? Nothing really. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. Lucy slept in the same room as Shari, only ten feet away.
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