But they did what they could for her. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Having once more got into the chimney, he climbed to a level with the ward above, and recommenced operations as vigorously as before. C below. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. When the prisoner was brought into this room, he was again questioned; but, continuing contumacious, preparations were made for inflicting the torture.
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