“There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. The Storm. He then descended; and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. She left for good after he fell asleep. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then.
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