“Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. Sheppard, anxiously. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him.
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