The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. ” The lady in black satin appeared undecided. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. ’ Gerald raised his brows. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless.
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