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Weyman, Stanley John, 1855-1928

"Count Hannibal A Romance of the Court of France"

Fortunately the stuff, falling on the
bed, made little noise; and in five minutes, working half-choked and in a
frenzy of impatience, he had made a hole through which he could thrust
his arms, a hole which extended almost from one joist to its neighbour.
By this time the air was thick with floating lime; the two could scarcely
breathe, yet they dared not pause. Mounting on La Tribe's shoulders--who
took his stand on the bed--the young man thrust his head and arms through
the hole, and, resting his elbows on the joists, dragged himself up, and
with a final effort of strength landed nose and knees on the timbers,
which formed his supports. A moment to take breath, and press his torn
and bleeding fingers to his lips; then, reaching down, he gave a hand to
his companion and dragged him to the same place of vantage.
They found themselves in a long narrow cockloft, not more than six feet
high at the highest, and insufferably hot. Between the tiles, which
sloped steeply on either hand, a faint light filtered in, disclosing the
giant rooftree running the length of the house, and at the farther end of
the loft the main tie-beam, from which a network of knees and struts rose
to the rooftree.
Tignonville, who seemed possessed by unnatural energy, stayed only to put
off his boots.


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