. Pah! What a pig is this générale. Running his hand carefully over it in search of the lock, he perceived to his dismay that it was fastened on the other side. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship.
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