She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. "No matter," replied Sheppard. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off.
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