A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. “Certainly. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious.
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