A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. "Sir Cecil is no more. "But I shall watch night and day about Newgate, in the hope of getting him out. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive.
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