"How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. ‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. She struggled fiercely not to give way. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her.
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