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. She had animated dark blue-gray eyes under her fine eyebrows, and dark brown hair that rolled back simply and effectively from her broad low forehead. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little oversharpened. He began to tell me something—and stopped.
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