If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it—that's all. This is simply a chapter of coincidences. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Care for a hundred up?” Ennison shook his head. “Just remember, I have to make this up to you. Give me my pistol and my dagger.
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