She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. “I wouldn’t make this objection,” Mr. Sheppard, with startling eagerness. "'This is the way in which I will serve all who attempt to apprehend me. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. CHAPTER X. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan.
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