She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. Being in a great hurry, he took little heed where he set his feet; and a board giving way, he must have fallen, if he had not grasped a large plank laid upon the transverse beam immediately over his head. At least for one moment, it was. Jack Kimble. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit.
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