“I’ve got bad faults. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. On regaining his breath, he began to consider whither chance had led him; and, rubbing his eyes to clear his sight, he perceived a sombre pile, with a lofty tower and broad roof, immediately in front of him. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined.
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