Smith's melody had subsided. " CHAPTER XIII. I could not hear his heart beat. I was being stupid. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year.
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