He was silent. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Sheppard was enabled to take possession of the premises. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken.
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