"Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. “I love some one else. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. 1 through 1. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn.
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