Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. Her mind went on generalizing. Sanguine they were not. She worried for Cathy, working double shifts at the nearby family restaurant to help make ends meet. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it.
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