“We won’t. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. This was enough for the poor widow. Fifty sent home.
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