As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. . . . "No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. ’ She shrugged.
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