ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. One wants helpers and protectors—and clean water. She felt her canines growing. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. There was nothing to be got out of the man.
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