ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs.
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