" Jack Sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld from levelling it at the thief-taker's head, by the hope that he might gather some further information respecting his mother. "In favour of my son. Thus, all her interest in life began to centre upon the patient, who was apparently quite as anchorless as she was. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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