Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively.
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