Thus died Jack Sheppard. Fast asleep, he is. Will you stand by and watch me?" The contents of the trunk only thickened the fog. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. "It's you, Jack, who are persuading my brother to do wrong.
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