‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Sheppard, if you please, Ma'am," interrupted the lad; "I allow nobody to call me Jack. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed.
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