Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. "I'm prudence personified. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. Sheppard," said Wood in a soothing tone. "I'll tell you a dream I had last night," continued the unfortunate being.
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