The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. Ruth loved him. It forbids—all sorts of things. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day.
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