"These are my terms, Sir Rowland," he added, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, and pushing it towards the knight. Sir John felt hot and furious. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Do not be a fool, Jacques. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated.
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