She went to her own table and sat down. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Wood turned to look at him. But we smirk a little, I’m afraid, habitually when we talk to you. I had no idea. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. I think that I will tell you. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence.
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