"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar.
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