‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. In spite of all this, he grew daily better and stronger, and his spirits revived. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts.
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