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‘Odd sort of a nun. An ancient smile lay on his lips. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. His glance came up again and met hers. "I give you joy of the capture, Mr. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. For I still love her mother. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. Alice was going to be Mrs. Spurling: "I blush for you, Sir! To call yourself a man, and interfere with the natural course of affection! Have you no feeling for the situation of those poor disconsolate creatures, about to be bereaved of all they hold dear? Is it nothing to part with a husband to the gallows? I've lost four in the same way, and know what it is.
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