To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again. Spurlock. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. Jack Sheppard warns Thames Darrell. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I want to go on with my University work under proper conditions, now that I’ve done the Intermediate.
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