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Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. An Englishwoman. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. “You poor thing. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. ‘Pitiful. Supper was over.
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