The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. " "Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. “Often,” he repeated, a little heavily. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!" "Are you alone?" asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone. We haven’t. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. By a sort of instinct. Noiselessly, his booted feet stepping with careful restraint, he started forward, signalling to Roding to follow. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively.
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