I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. His advice was mostly practical. "Jump!" cried Ben, in a voice of thunder. I’m damaged goods. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him.
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