' 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. ‘Pig! Pig, a thousand times!’ Running footsteps could be heard now, and she knew that the commotion was bringing the nuns, just as she had hoped. "I did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my health, Sir," he observed, displeased by Jonathan's allusion to the alteration in his appearance. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter.
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