The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. “Child!” he cried. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better.
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