Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. "Here's the full, true, and particular account of Jack Sheppard's last astonishing and never-to-be-forgotten escape from the Castle of Newgate," bawled the hawker, "with a print of him taken from the life, showing the manner, how he was shackled and handcuffed. She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. "I believe I'll tear them up. "No!" she cried. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell.
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