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If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Through her door curtain she could see the light from the study lamp. The smile had become a laugh. "Can you make me other than a condemned felon? Can you make me not Jack Sheppard?" "No," replied Blueskin; "and I wouldn't if I could. . That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. She backed away from him.
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