Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. The man looked hard at him. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. I worship you. Saw the villain through the keyhole. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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