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CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

Wilkes and Trisha sat on the ground of their cell, listening to Prof. Ericson and Harold's conversation as the fetor from the pee which was just a few metres from them sank into their nostrils.

Trisha heaved a sigh of relief and Wilkes whose body was cramped, relaxed when Harold replied his professor's question of how he had heard of Francis; that is, from his Geography class.

Good! He hadn't mentioned Francis’ Journal.

“I don't see any way out of here,” Trisha announced and her voice echoed softly as she swung her wand which served as a flashlight, left and right, up to the cell's roof which was just as black as soot and down, to the cold, dark ground.

“But the driller,” Wilkes replied, standing up and looking for a door knob or something of help, “he was able to leave here when he was done talking to us. How...” He paused  when he noticed something

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