“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword.
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