“Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. And so is your companion,—the convict Sheppard. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor. Wood. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. Have you done the trick at Dollis Hill?—brought off the swag—eh?" "No," answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, "I've not. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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