“Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account.
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