‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. "Oh, you're here, are you?" said the ruffian, with an exulting laugh: "I've been looking for you everywhere. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Que pasa con ustedes?” He returned in bad Spanish.
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