In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. "The plot's out!" cried Jack.
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