"As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. No instrument I've ever used has done me such good service. Can you come over?” “I think so. ” The redness in his face betrayed him. Jack Sheppard's Quarrel with Jonathan Wild 254 IV.
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