CHAPTER XIV
(1)
The Archdeacon came to himself in pitch and stuffy darkness. He had such a headache as he had not supposed to be possible. In his mouth was as it were the bitterness of death; his tongue felt not less than eighteen times its usual size, his throat as hot as Hades' High Street. He tried to put up a hand to his forehead. He couldn't, for his arms were bound closely to his sides. His legs too were shackled at the knees and ankles. He tried to call out, but all he achieved was a whining groan, for a gag was fast between his teeth.
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