Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.
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