Ah, no, I have it wrong. " Jack again seized the bar, and, dashing it furiously against the door, speedily burst it open. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. —Strype's Stow. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too.
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