(“Good job. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. ” “How could you!” She exclaimed. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. As soon as Jack gained his legs, he perceived Blueskin lying, as he thought, dead in the plantation, with a severe cut across his temples, and while he was stooping to assist him, he heard groans at a little distance. Jack Sheppard is a match for Jonathan Wild, any day. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own. CHAPTER XXIX.
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