They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry.
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