Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. "What are those odd-looking things on the roofs?" she asked of Ah Cum. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. 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. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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