Hurry. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. "I am. Lucy snatched it up and put it in her pack. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows.
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