Sheppard. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. Nothing stronger than water has passed my lips for years. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity.
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