John did not see her until the last period. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. The pistol fell to the floor. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. "It is open," replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet. .
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