"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. ” “My feeling in the matter,” Sir John said, “is as I have stated. Ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage.
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