There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. ‘Come, Hilary. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. "What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this.
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