The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks.
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