"You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “Hello?” She asked as she cradled the phone by her ear. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. I might have known it.
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