"Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. It was his turn to express astonishment. "For what?" "I had the paper with me. Oh, John.
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