Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves.
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