” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. “No! No no no no no no no!” She ran towards them, her arms outstretched, but he blocked her. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress.
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