“Some afternoon. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. But I have not done so, and will not. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. I'm an old hand at such things.
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