But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you. I’m sorry I ruined dinner. Not that it would make any difference if he was alive still. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window.
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