Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner.
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