A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. One must be on guard. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening.
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