. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!" "Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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