How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons 429 XXVI. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. But death is better for them, since they’re orphans now!” He screamed. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. Perhaps Ramage was the more astonished. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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