A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest.
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