" "So far you are correct," observed Trenchard; "still, this is no secret. ’ ‘I’m afraid you are right. ’ Jack blinked at her. He refused. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. “Hill’s confession will finally refute a number of absurd stories which have been in circulation during the last few days. With the aid of a penknife he ripped the shoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face.
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