She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. It fits your style. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. The pistol, it was not loaded. With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. I will take her back. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. “Did you see who that was?” he asked in a low tone. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely.
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