Eight per cent. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. I’ve got to run to get to my Study Hall. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. If so I shall have to leave. She got up and unlocked the door. It was not a difficult affair.
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