At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Sheppard, pressing her hand to her temples. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. " Here she began to blubber loudly for sympathy. Sheppard found it; and, as no one opposed her, she at once took up her abode there; nor was she long in discovering that the dreaded sounds proceeded from the nocturnal gambols of a legion of rats. .
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