Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke.
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