Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. With some difficulty, they managed to negotiate the passage with their burden and carry him out into the library.
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