“By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. 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. But she had loved the man.
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