Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. He looked down and met them. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. There was no answer. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape.
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