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Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Once outside, she ran towards the playground, and the grotto, a miniature limestone version of the manor, which was in itself a miniature of a fortress.
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