Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Her figure was, in some measure, hidden by a large scarf, and a deep hood drawn over the head contributed to her disguise; still it was evident, from her lofty bearing, that she had nothing in common, except an interest in their proceedings, with the crew by whom she was surrounded. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow.
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