He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. She was suddenly grave. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold. "Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked.
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