She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel, they prepared to depart. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. 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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