The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. Silken open robes over full tiffany petticoats in a contrasting colour were, Lucy assured him, of the very latest Parisian design, cut by the finest French tailors. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. I don't believe he is much past forty.
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