With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. It was impossible. As to Jack Sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way. “You need have no further trouble. May I know your name?’ The lady eyed him. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. “Now you look happy. " CHAPTER XIII.
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