Kneebone, and feeling certain of capturing him if he did so, Shotbolt, on quitting Newgate, hurried to the New Prison to prepare for the enterprise. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. She was never announced as ‘Alcide,’ but directly she walked on she simply became ‘Alcide’ to every one. That really settles about that. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him.
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