I didn't understand then, but I do now. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. Only a few, but enough for me to understand that some act had driven you to this part of the world, where the hunted hide. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again.
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