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The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. Hilary threw up his eyes. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. 1. You have made your public, you are already a personage. 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. ‘I am not a murderer.
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