"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Supper was over. "Leave the room," interposed Kneebone, angrily. Sheppard, and regarding her with an insolent and threatening glance. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them.
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