Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. " "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own.
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