During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. "Jack Sheppard failed! I'd not believe it, if any one but himself told me so. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. He felt the first sting of the whip. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. In a sense it alters nothing. All my life I've had to fight human wolves to hold what I have.
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