\"I don't think so. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. I've delivered Jack Sheppard from many an assault. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key.
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