Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. A little kindness would not bring the world tumbling about her ears. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. Imitating the example of Mr. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
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