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Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. He did not explain what had happened to her. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended.
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