Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. He donned his winter coat. She lied. unless a copyright notice is included. CHAPTER IX. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. How Jack Sheppard broke out of the Cage at Willesden XIX.
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