” “What else,” Lady Lescelles murmured, “are men for?” Anna laughed. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. But we get over it. 9. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it.
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