It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. Mr. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do.
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