Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind.
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