“There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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