I don’t understand the workings of a gentleman’s mind. I was sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their faces. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. "I beg pardon," he said. “Yes, but maybe later. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night.
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