“I will take my chance. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn. Wood, terrified by the wildness of her looks.
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