‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man.
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