“Mr. Hoped you'd not be retaken. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise.
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