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"Dying, Sir Rowland. She had found him! Excitement welled. It was impossible. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. It is no good arguing about a thing like that. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV.
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