Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood.
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