Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. Anna was more difficult.
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