"Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. Wood fancied he recognised. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.
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