From the beginning. " Jack was about to comply; but not liking the man's manner, he walked on. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. ' 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. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. I'm glad of it, I'm sure; for it's all owing to him his poor mother's here. As it is not, however, our intention to furnish a complete catalogue of these curiosities, we shall merely mention that in front of them lay a large and sharp knife, once the property of the public executioner, and used by him to dissever the limbs of those condemned to death for high-treason; together with an immense two-pronged flesh-fork, likewise employed by the same terrible functionary to plunge the quarters of his victims in the caldrons of boiling tar and oil. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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