‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. I was certain of it. Telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. ‘But tell me this instead. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse.
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