Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. ” Drummond looked up with mock eagerness.
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