His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. "I shan't sleep a wink while Jack Sheppard's in the house.
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