"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. Sheppard. ' 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. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. It was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of St.
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