There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn. "But trifle with mo no longer. I did think it could be done. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity.
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