‘You do not dare look in my clothes. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay.
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