Before many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles. But it was not so ordered. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so.
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