Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. “It was my sister Anna. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila.
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