” “Good God!” said Mr. "Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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