Covering his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate, Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. JACK SHEPPARD. I don’t see what you can have to say. .
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