Sheppard had been interred. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight. ‘Can’t you see he is not a gentleman with whom one can argue?’ ‘You think so?’ Melusine said dangerously, and her eyes flashed as she swept about again and confronted her grandfather once more. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy.
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