I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. That is the dreadful truth. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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