Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it.
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