There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. The two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and Jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer. She was reasonably certain why. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach.
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