So Mrs. 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. . "Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what.
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