Not choosing to hazard so great a fall, Jack turned to examine the building, to see whether any more favourable point of descent presented itself, but could discover nothing but steep walls, without a single available projection. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. It could not be she who had done this. " "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames. ” He writhed. They were drenched with water and suds. ” He looked at her pleadingly.
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