Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. “You poor little girl!” he cried.
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