The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Pitt?" "There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack Sheppard. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him.
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