There's a hundred pounds too much. Manning. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Casting a hasty glance, as he was about to turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper windows of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, Jack proceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road, and bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the case, she sank from fright and exhaustion. "Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob. But if you wouldn't have me positively dislike Jack Sheppard, you'll never mention such a subject again. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose.
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