" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar.
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