They give themselves airs, but so it is. "Sir Cecil is no more. He had said so. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. I needn't tell you to tread carefully.
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