I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. As it was, the mob went on alternately hooting and huzzaing as the names of Wild and Sheppard were pronounced, while some individuals, bolder than the rest, thrust their faces into the coach-window, and assured Jack that he should never be taken to Tyburn. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. But her heart kept on sinking. “I’m being honest with you.
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