A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. “It is true. If Ray left the house, it would be easy. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. “There is this absurd craving for Mr. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels.
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