‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man.
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