She had not realized how high
she had climbed.
"Dave was fussing with ropes and buckets the other day," she recalled.
"Now I wonder--wouldn't it be the best luck in the world if I could
find a rope?"
Hope was singing high in her heart now, but she almost despaired of such
good fortune after a diligent search. Then something told her to feel
about again on the floor. Round and round she went, getting her fingers
into spider webs and sticky substances that renewed her inward shudders
because she could not identify them. And when she found the rope, a tarry
coil, she also solved the mystery of the tools. They had fallen down
behind the coil of rope and were effectively fenced off from the circle
of floor explored by the bewildered Betty.
It was the work of a moment to tie one end of the rope to a heavy staple
driven under the window sill, and then, closing her eyes to the pitch
black void beneath her, Betty let herself slide down to the roof. Her
hands were cruelly scratched by the rope fibres and she was too tired to
care about the evidences of her flight.
"If anybody wants to know about that rope and the locked door, let 'em!"
she sighed defiantly.
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