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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. . A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. ‘And so?’ she asked. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. "Oh! he'll be after you directly. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively.
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