No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. 148 “Sure. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard.
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