Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. . She had to do her thinking at home—under inspection.
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