They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. “I believe so. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest.
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