She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. \"Those look heavy. ’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing. "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. .
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