How Jack Sheppard got out of the Condemned Hold. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. He resumed his listening. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle.
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