The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck, while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp knife, which he opened with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwithstanding his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. He looked at her, hurt. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath.
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