Sheppard," said Wood, glancing round the chamber, as he expanded his palms before the scanty flame. “Those things are not for me just at present. "I alone am to blame. Montague Hill. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. It was Blueskin. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. She said that in the note.
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