"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Shotbolt?" rejoined the executioner. "How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river.
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