” She paused for a moment. ‘Do not speak of him. Sheppard. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. ‘All right, Trodger. “Go on!” she commanded. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Shoplatch. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. Imperceptibly almost Ann Veronica began to acquire the new attitude, even while her mind still resisted the felted ideas that went with it. Supper was over. ’ He opened the purse and extracted a couple of guineas.
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