Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly; "and, I repeat, Bedlam's too good for her. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make.
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