Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. Not Trodger. But this time she wanted nothing for herself: she wanted something for Hoddy—success. He only laughed his defiance. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships.
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