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‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. She turned back into the hall. The Procession to Tyburn. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails.
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