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“She’s all right. Witness Browning. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. It warms me, and lights me, and fills my world with flowers. A crisis of some kind was toward. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel.
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