She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her. ‘Has this capitaine of yours not yet rid us of this Emile? What can he find to say to him?’ ‘Don’t be impatient,’ Gerald said, rising too and coming to draw her away from the door. The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. “I think we’ve exhausted this discussion,” she said.
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