She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. I burned it. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. “Am I dull?” she said. She must weigh her situation. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard.
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