"Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. " And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began—with the tubbing of a stray yellow dog. "What has become of Jack Sheppard?" "Devil knows!" answered Quilt; "but I believe he's in the hands of Blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to Tyburn. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said.
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