"Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. She paused. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV. She took his hand in hers. There was—a service. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. My little maidservant will think that I am lost.
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