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She made an abrupt personal appeal. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. . ’ So saying, she threw a meaning look over her shoulder at Lucilla, much to Gerald’s approval. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. 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. "Ruth?" Silence for a moment. Lucy followed her. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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