Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. "Dead!" echoed the boy. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExNy4xNzIuNTIgLSAwOS0wNi0yMDI0IDA2OjM5OjA1IC0gOTEyNzgyODQy
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