She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. On receiving the warning note from the ostler, Jack Sheppard and his companion left Willesden, and taking—as a blind—the direction of Harrow, returned at nightfall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and put up at a little public-house called the Spotted Dog. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. The light would betray us. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. .
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