The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. If you hang Jack Sheppard, you'll cut off the flower o' the purfession.
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