"Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions— From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. " "Awake!—to be sure I am, my flash cove," replied Sheppard; "I'm down as a hammer.
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