CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. . I don’t have to take this shit. You should go home today and get some rest. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. "Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg.
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