"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “Of course it is okay!” Cathy’s voice rose in volume and in pitch. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers.
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