“Let me get you some water, Annabel. ' Jack Sheppard's library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds of crime —the Ordinaries of Newgate. “Are there others like you?” “Yes. I can’t stand it. "Once in this chair, yer hon'r, and I'll warrant he'll not get out so aisily as Jack Sheppard did from the New Pris'n. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered.
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