He could not kiss Ruth. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. 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. "Ah!" exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant.
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