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Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. ‘If you shoot me,’ Gerald said quickly, throwing out a hand, ‘I shan’t be able to rescue you. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. ” True summer descended like a sticky fever upon August’s arrival, bringing with it miasmas of humidity that seemed to hang from the trees like mucus. Thus died Jack Sheppard. "I'm going back for Ruth.
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