How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. Then she called a hansom and drove home.
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