Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Walpole, and then to Newgate. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so.
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