The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. " So saying, he raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a loud call; and, as this was unanswered, another still louder. ‘I must get a handkerchief. " "Indeed!—who is it?" "Jack Sheppard. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy. Sheppard. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone.
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