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"He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. "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. He has given orders that no one is to disturb him. She donned her gloves. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. ” She led the way, talking all the time to Ennison.
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