"What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. XII JACK SHEPPARD A Romance BY W. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. It was locked. She has never done a really ignoble thing that I know of— never. Mr.
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