Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. With her foodle doo! "I've a toast to propose," cried Sheppard, filling a bumper. "Be it as you please," replied Winifred. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me.
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