I ask again.
She glances round, to see that all the little company are there; sits down
upon a mound of stones; throws up her arms, and yells out, like a fiend,
"La Salle de la Question!"
The Chamber of Torture! And the roof was made of that shape to stifle the
victim's cries! Oh Goblin, Goblin, let us think of this awhile, in
silence. Peace, Goblin! Sit with your short arms crossed on your short
legs, upon that heap of stones, for only five minutes, and then flame out
again.... A cold air, with an earthy smell, falls upon the face of
Monsieur; for she has opened, while speaking, a trap-door in the wall.
Monsieur looks in. Downward to the bottom, upward to the top, of a steep,
dark lofty tower; very dismal, very dark, very cold. The Executioner of
the Inquisition, says Goblin, edging in her head to look down also, flung
those who were past all further torturing, down here. "But look! does
Monsieur see the black stains on the wall?" A glance, over his shoulder,
at Goblin's keen eye, shows Monsieur--and would without the aid of the
directing-key--where they are.
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