Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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