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Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. What befell Jack Sheppard in the Turner's House. “You!” said Ann Veronica. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. Kneebone's special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham and eggs, and toasted cheese. She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness.
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