But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. And then—this sudden thrust.
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