“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. But, no. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. Dorling said. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion.
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