” “As long as you remain under my roof—” he began, and paused. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. "A hundred guineas if you hang Jack Sheppard. ‘I live in Kent. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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