Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. There was something very wrong. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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