"The lash cuts to the bone. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. Sheppard, with a faint smile and a doubtful shake of the head, as Wood drew her to a seat beside him, "for I've had my full share of misery. Sheppard, if you please, Ma'am," interrupted the lad; "I allow nobody to call me Jack. The troops had kept a large space clear around the gallows. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. 8. Wood," replied Jack, calmly.
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