" Enschede stepped into the proa, and the natives shoved off. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?.
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