"Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. Critically, she stared at her own features. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village.
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