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“They have all been trying to turn my head. And now, let's see who'll refuse the pledge. What befell Jack Sheppard in the Turner's House. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Wood, at the top of her voice. The Bishop, however, to show him the danger of meddling with the church, gave him a dance at Tyburn for his pains. But he could only utter an inarticulate exclamation. ’ With pretty imperiousness, she gestured to the bed beside her.
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