Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Sheppard had been interred.
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