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. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. “Ass!” he went on, still warming.
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