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. A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch.
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