' 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. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. They alighted at the restaurant, and stood for a moment in the passage looking into the crowded room. Capes? Well, think what it must be to live in them—soul and mind and body! It’s fun for a man to jest at our position.
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