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. Taber and no one comment upon it. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr.
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