How Jack Sheppard broke out of the Cage at Willesden XIX. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend.
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