Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity. It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. On that morning the death warrant had arrived from Windsor, ordering Sheppard for execution, (since his capture by Jonathan Wild in Bedlam, as related in a former chapter, Jack had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death,) together with three other malefactors on the following Friday. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. I’ve had a lot on my mind.
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