What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. ’ Gerald was relieved to find the girl did not attempt to run away, but meekly allowed him to usher her into the spacious and comfortable library which was his habitual haunt when at home. Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof.
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