"It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. And the hunter home from the hill. “I had found her at last, and she shot me. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded.
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