That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. It was a long walk she had to undertake, even if she had endured no previous fatigue, but feeble as she was, it was almost more than she could accomplish. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress.
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