ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. The boy was coming around. CHAPTER III. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. ‘I have told you that I am entirely English. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid.
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