The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Men usually do. Lucy spoke once they had turned the corner. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. "'Odd's! bodikins!" cried Jack, rubbing his cheek, "I'm in luck to-day.
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