Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance.
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