She smiled. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. " "She has paid dearly for it," muttered Blueskin.
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