“I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. Sheppard had been interred. ’ He sat up. "Nothin'—nothin'," returned Blueskin; "only I thought—" "You saw the hangman, no doubt," said Jack.
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