Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. Something insisted that those two were mysteriously linked—that the woman knew the man was there. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. "No; but I shall, before he retires to rest.
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