She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. She laughed a little bitterly. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. It might prove rewarding. Get out your pad and pencil. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life.
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