” “You mean you’re going to run away with me?” He asked in semi-seriousness. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Once before—but that had been different. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. "I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. And now, let's see who'll refuse the pledge.
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