Answering him was agonizing. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. "Is my house to be made a receptacle for all your natural children, Sir? Answer me that. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace.
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