It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. ‘You make a game with me, I think. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. ‘I’ll make it, miss.
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