‘Kimble, you shouldn’t be here. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. ’ ‘Nonsense. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Sheppard, rushing from the adjoining room. ” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement. " CHAPTER XIII.
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