Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands. Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. And this shall be your diet till you die. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked.
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