"Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. "Give me your thorough-paced villain. While Thames modestly expressed a hope that he might not belie the carpenter's favourable prediction, Jack Sheppard thought fit to mount a small ladder placed against the wall, and, springing with the agility of an ape upon a sort of frame, contrived to sustain short spars and blocks of timber, began to search about for a piece of wood required in the work on which he was engaged. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Earles, but it is a good one. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. "You're right Jack," he said, after a pause, during which he contemplated the picture with the most fixed attention: "this must have been my father!" "No doubt of it," answered Sheppard; "only compare it with Winny's drawing, and you'll find they're as like as two peas in a pod. She is English, and apparently in some distress. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them.
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