Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. ‘Possibly,’ he said. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence.
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