With some difficulty he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater difficulty to squeeze her through it—her bulk being much greater than his own. " "Pshaw!" cried Thames. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so.
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