Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. The Frenchman was already being followed. I should have known at a glance if it was. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread.
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