“Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. "I half suspect this is a highwayman," thought the Jew; "he's so ready with his cash. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. Marvel, in a tone intended to be consolatory. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. The burden of decision had been transferred. Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony.
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