Sheppard. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. "Oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour. I mean Miss Charvill no harm. You are one of the Immortals. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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