Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack Sheppard was conducted to the cart. “Dear John,” she whispered. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. No, none at all. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama.
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