If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas.
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