"No," replied Jack, peremptorily. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. “Great. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. " "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. " "Now for it!—life or death!" exclaimed Jack, assuming the gait of a female, and stepping towards the door. " "I'd never set eyes on you again.
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