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Then they rode off at speed. What befell Jack Sheppard in the Turner's House. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. "Do you see any likeness?" "Don't I," returned Jack, bitterly. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She searched for it for many days that stretched into weeks before she gave up. "He who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus," answered Jack. When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea that it contained a tip. Annabel turned on the electric light and made her way into the sitting-room.
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