Sir John waved her back. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. I'd go for it. The other bona roba, known amongst her companions as Mistress Poll Maggot, was a beauty on a much larger scale,—in fact, a perfect Amazon. She gloried in it: he needed her.
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