"It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. " CHAPTER XVIII. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. " "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support.
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