I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. “G. ” “Two years ago,” she answered. Sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury.
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