How Jack Sheppard was again captured 367 XV. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. It said: Got news for you about J. “I remember you now,” he said. He smiled. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Wood could stand it no longer. She elected to go to prison. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. .
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