Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. "I don't think that's likely. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. . . Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. Notwithstanding the heat of the season,—which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region,—a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. Vorsack echoed him. Think, ma’am.
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