“John, don’t!” she cried. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. "I'm sure he won't attempt to prevent me," rejoined Thames. Let’s go on climbing now.
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