For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. She kept her face downcast. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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