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. And since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on the slightest inkling of treachery. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. For a moment or two Gerald stood in the total silence of amazement, his pistol up and pointing, aware that Hilary was likewise stunned, standing with halfdrawn sword. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. The thought of beauty became an obsession. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. He remained listening attentively. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose.
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