In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. 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. It was Blueskin. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle.
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