He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind.
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