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. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer.
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