Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. She shuddered as his naked body pressed against her. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. You’re such a strange girl. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench.
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