" "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. "That's the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain't it?" muttered Smith to his companion as he stole a glance at Jack Sheppard. His face fell. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. It must be sent home this evening. ” He followed up a line of thought.
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