A maidservant held the front door open. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. "From Mr. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. It’s all nonsense.
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