' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. It brought no coconut. "I love her already. The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth.
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