Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. There were lines in her face that age had not put there. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall.
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