He turned to Ruth and McClintock. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. I don't want her hurt. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. "What's that you're saying about Jack Sheppard?" she cried. “If I do,” he said.
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