"Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. I cannot turn into a bat. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror.
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