"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. “I wondered. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. Would a hundred dollars interest you?" "Very much, if I can earn it without offending my conscience.
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