Then the long lashes sank demurely over them. She looked up and said, a little breathlessly, “I’m sorry, aunt, but I don’t think I can. “The ones Cariolus did for me. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. Spurlock went, it would not be far enough. I think she might be up to something.
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