‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. She forced herself not to think of John. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire.
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