"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. She heard their feet and muffled voices. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss.
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