On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. "I don't think you could find in your heart to quarrel with any one, Winny; much less with a person whom I like so much as Jack Sheppard. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. ” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. I should have gone mad without it. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle.
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