“You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient.
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