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. ‘You do not try. You are my prisoner, murderer. “There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier’s room,” he said. Your mind is still subtly sick. “What do you think of that?” he asked.
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