"It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. CHAPTER I. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. "And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII. Those were dreams. Sometimes I think I’ll miss them and I start to cry, but I’m ready to have a life of my own.
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