The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. "What has become of Jack Sheppard?" "Devil knows!" answered Quilt; "but I believe he's in the hands of Blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to Tyburn. ” “Mary, please don’t cry.
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