"You've hit it," answered Sheppard. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. “Katy Pfister. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. It may here be mentioned that this gate, destined to bequeath its name—a name, which has since acquired a terrible significance,—to every successive structure erected upon its site, was granted, in 1400, by charter by Henry the Sixth to the citizens of London, in return for their royal services, and thenceforth became the common jail to that city and the county of Middlesex. I burned it. I’m convinced that much of Russell’s investigations are on wrong lines, unsound lines. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. "Tomorrow I shall have a visitor. Above the housetops it was different.
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