" And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. “I like to think of your offer. “What I mean is. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. “It was very tiring. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. “John, that is what you say now. Here, Caliban, attend to the door, and keep the wicket locked till I return.
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