Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. “Oh, you know,” she said.
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