Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury. Don’t ask me how. ‘You put that thing away now, missie. (“No, no. It was now a quarter past twelve.
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