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. Now, do what you please. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you.
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