So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. It’s a mismatch. " And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock.
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