“No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air.
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