Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. It’s your first evening, and early impressions do count for so much. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet.
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