‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. Finding it impossible to descend on any side, without incurring serious risk, Jack resolved to return for his blanket, by the help of which he felt certain of accomplishing a safe landing on the roof of the house in Giltspur Street. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower.
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