The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. 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. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. There is the key. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. It had not tasted good since 1350. Kneebone, he took his departure.
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