He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. It isn’t. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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