In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. “Ugh!” she said. This is retribution. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him. “So far you’ve got me and I you. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key.
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