Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. “You’ve grown out of them. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me.
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