XII JACK SHEPPARD A Romance BY W. E. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. Sheppard staggered forward. She wanted to live. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. "Come, off with it, sirrah, or I'll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip you afterwards.
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