The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. That’s what I mean. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. She is no longer mine; she is yours. In the general survey of the prison, taken in the preceding chapter, but little was said of the Lodge.
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