"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. Wood's habitation in Wych Street, we are luckily enabled to furnish a facsimile) was Jack Sheppard (signature) "I've half a mind to give old Wood the slip, and turn highwayman," cried Jack, as he closed the knife, and put it in his pocket. We all love you dearly.
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