A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. ‘I see that Leonardo was right. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write.
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