Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. "May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live.
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