\" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. . Where was the message? Where was Gerald? Until he came back, what was there for her to do? Eh bien, it made no sense to do anything. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock.
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