"It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say. You see I am rather obstinate. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. That’s my advice. Kneebone, who did not appear in the slightest degree disconcerted by his cool reception, each sank carelessly into a chair, and made himself at home in a moment. But no more of that. Only, he'll be an interesting specimen for me to observe.
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