At length Jack Sheppard observed:—"The coast's clear. “I remember you now,” he said. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much more difficult than she had supposed. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. He insisted once again on opening the car door for her.
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