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. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room.
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