Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr.
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