It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. Give me your staff. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room.
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