‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. I'll tell you something. My, um, my curfew.
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