But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. “I think that it is only an idea. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion.
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