The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. Milice,’ Gerald translated. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never appalled him. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once.
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