How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. “Dare!” she said. . What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. ’ ‘Truly?’ Melusine said excitedly. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. They clapped wildly afterward.
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