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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. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. ‘My name’s NOT More, Mr. A man as rich as you are ought to have a thousand-ton yacht. All the world before you, all the ologies.
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