He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. "The glass never sinks in that way, d'ye see, without a hurricane follerin', I've knowed it often do so in the West Injees. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister. But there was a face pressed to the glass.
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