" "Is this true, Sir?" cried Mrs. E. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. He gave glimpses of possibilities. He was disquieted. Horrid snorters! So long, Vee! Just suggested it. And Mother trusted him.
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