It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned Pew. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement.
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