And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. Smith's melody had subsided. He was an old, skilled vampire. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister.
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