” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. Shotbolt that if he, or any other person, takes Jack Sheppard before to-morrow morning, I'll double it.
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