She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. . Telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard. “Who tied this scarf here?” he asked, looking up. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. “You will have some tea?” she asked. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. . Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. You’d think with as much dick as she gets that she’d cheer up. This is my last week at the ‘Unusual,’ you know.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xMTkuMjYgLSAwMS0wNy0yMDI0IDA5OjU4OjAzIC0gMTQ4OTU5OTQ3
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