Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. "May I be cursed," muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollendraper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,' "if ever I try to be honest again!" "Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. It was Blueskin.
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