How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “Broddick is a heavy man,” he was saying, “and the main interest of the play was the embezzlement. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. Sir John saw it, and was flattered.
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