On Thursday, the 12th of November, after having endured nearly a month's imprisonment, Jack Sheppard was conveyed from Newgate to Westminster Hall. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. He followed. As for my past, Michelle, and Michael’s, it is a book of woeful chapters better left unread. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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