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. One comes at last to the step from dreams to reality. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Nevertheless it was overwhelming.
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