The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. She is the wife now of another man. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. ‘Why, that’s it. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt.
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