"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. And, now, to find a messenger. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid.
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