“Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. 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. Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. She was too late.
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