How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. Her name was Rhea. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered.
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