” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. "He stands before you," rejoined her son. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. The major hailed him with a show of relief.
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