The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. Having made a hole in the wall sufficiently large to pass through, Jack first tossed the bar into the room and then crept after it. She pulled him towards the bed. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical.
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