Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. “Once or twice. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. Her heart swelled to suffocation. If you hang Jack Sheppard, you'll cut off the flower o' the purfession. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door.
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