Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. Ed. “I wish you didn’t. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. But you don’t particularly want to do the job that sets you free—for its own sake. Mrs. Sheppard, meekly. “Really?” “Would not let it go.
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