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. “And somehow or other,” she added, after a long interval, “I must pay Mr. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless.
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