And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance.
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