I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. " "I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town —Jack Sheppard—was in custody. A remittance man. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London.
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