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"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. He had more time for her. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. " "I hadn't thought of that.
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