They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. There was a lock, apparently more than a foot wide, strongly plated, and girded to the door with thick iron hoops. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for.
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