'—'They can't,' says I. He’s dead. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. 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. It does not matter to him either way.
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