Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. But go on. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. Let’s go up to my room. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar.
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