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His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. Mike knocked on the door. He resented being regarded as irregular. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied.
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