"Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. In fact, it had been anciently the right hand postern under the gate leading towards the city. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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