His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. “Julian, please wait. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole.
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