ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. " Sheppard's name operated like magic on the crowd. .
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