" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. But she veiled her feelings. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. “Oh, you know,” she said. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so.
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