Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. If you want me, you know where to find me. “I may seem unduly— anxious. Men have seen to that. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied.
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