"What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. Spurlock grew cold. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. “TROUSERS!” she whispered. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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