Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist.
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