' 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. But why didn't you let me know they were coming. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. ‘Come, mademoiselle. What you said wanted saying.
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