” “It might become one,” he answered. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. Manning, “they’re a dream. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair.
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