They fell into step again. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion.
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