‘I think that was what began his downfall. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. "Your assistants are in my power. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. ' 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.
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