Let me go, Sir. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. Wait a little; rest. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. ” She said. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. You can do it, if you will.
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