Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. Sheppard.
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