Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. Too busy. He walked her home. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as the painting was turned towards him. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. .
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