The panel in the bookcase. Sheppard, shuddering violently. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. You wanted to play a lone hand. Only you good ones— shirk. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more.
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