It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. \" Michelle said in a bitter voice. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. ’ Alderley laughed. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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