It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. End of Project Gutenberg's Jack Sheppard, by William Harrison Ainsworth *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK SHEPPARD *** ***** This file should be named 16215-h. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake.
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