"I have nothing to forgive. " Ruth turned back toward the stairs. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers.
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