The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him.
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