"And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked Hogarth. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. It would have given me intense satisfaction to have been able to catch a French spy. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. This time you cannot. .
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