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. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. There was an eerie sense of brooding menace about an uninhabited establishment.
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