“Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. Thames Street was wholly impassable. Buck up. He could not tell whether she was English or American. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody.
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