Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. The Reaper is not sated yet. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear.
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