Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. The movement was fatal to her son. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. We’re closer than you think. . It was a brief solitude, however.
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