A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. In a moment they were in the street outside. ” “It certainly was,” she admitted.
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