“John, that is what you say now. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. ” The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. "Sounds as if I had heard it, but I can't place it this minute. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade.
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