It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls.
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