The gentlemen looked at each other for a ſolution of this ſtrange event, each preſuming an order had been obtained to again immure the unfortunate Clara.

'Rob? It's Gary. Are you having any joy with this trip to Bali?' 'No joy at all, mate. I reckon Bali's out for the foreseeable future. […]

Wearing his hat and coat, he looked outside and decided he should take an umbrella, as well.

As she held high the Staff, she caught the early sunlight. Her hair shone about her like an anadem, and the golden Ranyhyn bore her up like an offering to the wide day.