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" "I tell 'ee what, landlord," observed the old sailor, quietly replenishing his pipe from a huge pewter tobacco-box, as the waterman and Wood quitted the house, "you've said good-b'ye to your friend. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. It was not a hopeful looking group. “For luck. ’ ‘Comment? How will it serve you to kill me?’ ‘I do not need to kill you. " On the appearance of his visitors, Sheppard arose,—his gyves clanking heavily as he made the movement,—and folding his arms, so far as his manacles would permit him, upon his breast, steadily returned the glances fixed upon him. "You've charged with assisting your comrade, Jack Sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to Lady Trafford. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling. " "It is," replied Jack. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. Then he sensed the trap. ’ ‘Because I like you, of course,’ Gerald said promptly.
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