‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. You don’t understand. ‘Do not beg my pardon. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us.
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