She floundered deep. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV. "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, folding her to his breast. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again.
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