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Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. htm or 16215-h. "I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate.
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