"Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. "My name is Ruth Enschede. Tell me how are you amusing yourself?” Anna laughed. \" He rose and departed. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. And this time the departure had a tremendous effect of finality. Her hair got loose, her hat came over one eye, and she had no arm free to replace it.
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