If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. Without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person in whom Jack Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as Edgeworth Bess was incapable of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman's care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and fulfilled his design—for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once conceived, Jack always executed it,—of visiting Jonathan Wild at his house in the Old Bailey. She followed the official back into his room. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. And there arose too, a background of shouts. He’s really hot. Ah Cum is a Yale man and so is this Taber.
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