133 “TRY ME!” He yelled, his voice booming into the cacophony beyond the walls. “Well, well, Martin. I hope—I am sure that he did not see me. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. It was still possible the child might be in safety.
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