Kneebone, I'll make one of the party. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side.
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