She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. "Oh! that was all, was it?" said the turnkey, quietly reseating himself. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk.
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