. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. She ought to have leapt back on guard. 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. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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