Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. At length, I shall ascertain my name. ‘You! Tell this fool who is the keeper here to come to me at once. Our ideal had fallen. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
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