"Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. This also struck her as odd. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase.
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