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Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. On one side of the chapel there was a large grated window, but, as it looked upon the interior of the jail, Jack preferred following the course he had originally decided upon to making any attempt in this quarter. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. My birth certificate was destroyed when the county building it was housed in burned down. If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it—that's all. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 22-09-2024 21:10:12