A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. There all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated.
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