“Well?” he asked her tersely. Funny codgers, aren't they?" he said. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so.
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