For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. "Jack Sheppard failed! I'd not believe it, if any one but himself told me so. How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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