A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Beyond the hatch, an angle, formed by a projection in the wall of some three or four feet, served to hide a door conducting to the interior of the prison. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. Why not? Quite willing. You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it. "Well, I've seen many a gallant fellow in my time, Mr.
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