"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared.
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