There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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