She held up the lamp. 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. Nothing at all. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here.
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