He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. She fled. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything.
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