Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. At this juncture, and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm. He knew me, Nigel. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia.
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