Wood turned over to obtain a more comfortable position. “Go on!” she commanded. Wood's boat bearing up towards him. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell.
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