' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. Frequently she would doze in her chair; but the slightest movement on the bed aroused her. ‘It must be painful. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. A drunken idea, Ah Cum had called it. She's not for pleasure, but for work. She took up a book and threw it down again.
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