' 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. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. This one too she read. ’ ‘What if she goes back to Charvill?’ demanded Roding.
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