It is attested, you will observe, by the Reverend Mr. Sheppard, fervently. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. They were both dressed in every respect alike. . Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault.
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