He’s just. But it is my fault. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. Wood. He said nothing. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble.
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