The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. On the way he confessed. “I should like you to come here,” she said. White, my landlady, believes his story. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. A narrow passage at the north of the Stone Hall led to the Bluebeard's room of this enchanted castle, a place shunned even by the reckless crew who were compelled to pass it. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad.
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