"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. " "I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town —Jack Sheppard—was in custody. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground.
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