"A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. Half after six. You’re splendid stuff, you know, but you’ve got nothing ready to sell. The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. The unfortunate prisoner, meanwhile, who was not informed of the respite, languished in his horrible dungeon, and, at the expiration of three weeks, became so seriously indisposed that it was feared he could not long survive. Ever since he's become so famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage.
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