But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. The militia offered little in the way of relief. " "Nor Jonathan Wild, I hope," interposed Sheppard. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. " "Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her.
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