She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. Don’t take my word for it though. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. " "Follow me, then," cried Thames, drawing his sword, and springing through the window. "But first let us secure Sheppard.
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