ToC In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped,—for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington—and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. Her tone was hoarse with passion. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible.
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