Perhaps she was. Come along home, Ruth. Then a surge of rage welled up. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. ‘Now what?’ The guard jerked his head up the corridor. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. I’m sorry. I was sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw Jack Sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on their faces.
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