“I like to think of your offer. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. But Jack eluded their grasp. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. You see, I’m selfish. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin.
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