“I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Ah! she looks this way, and puts her finger to her lips. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. Never sent for the shirt. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes.
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