"It is Jack Sheppard, the noted housebreaker," cried Jonathan, at the top of his sonorous voice. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. Wild in my presence! He's the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!" "We!" repeated Wood, significantly. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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