But his grief was of short duration. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. ’ He turned to the lodgekeeper behind him, whose shocked fear had given place to a direful frown. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
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