' 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. "What is your name?" "Ruth. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. I want my freedom. " The little girl's countenance fell. Sheppard, distractedly. Michelle briskly made introductions and then joined the fray of conversations. Mr.
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