“I have scarcely left his side. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. He sent me home. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. "We'll see that," replied Jonathan. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Stopping before each door, they took up the plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road.
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