The discourse, then, turned to Darrell's old playmate, Jack Sheppard; and Mr. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. Sheppard. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. What right had a young woman to possess the scarring and intimate knowledge of that dreg of human society, the beachcomber? CHAPTER II Ah Cum lived at No.
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