The resemblance was amazing! And some man—he was good-looking—was in the background. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. “You did your best to kill me,” he said.
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