She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. . " "Can I trust him?" mused Jack. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. “I may seem unduly— anxious.
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