‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. I had a vague sort of idea that this was the region where one finds apartments, so I told my cabman to drive in this direction while I sat inside his vehicle and endeavoured to form a plan of campaign. " "I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town —Jack Sheppard—was in custody. That’s— that’s my private life. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room.
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