The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. His father spoke for him. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so.
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