’ She threw a melting look at Roding. These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. “Turn me. "Thanks. " "Very well, sir. . “He tried it. They had completed a circuit of the mansion before Roding’s frustration burst out. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. As he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. .
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