" Jack Sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld from levelling it at the thief-taker's head, by the hope that he might gather some further information respecting his mother. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. ” “Thanks to me,” he repeated, puzzled. Ruth went on to explain. His face was downcast. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light.
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