My wife—killed me. "He comes!" cried a thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that Sheppard had left the prison. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. A constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck.
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