He walked across the Park and called upon his sister. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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