You can
scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a
Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. Every one of those four stories would be accepted. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint
Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches,
where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone
Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a
tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch
House. Jack Sheppard's Quarrel with Jonathan Wild
254
IV. Forgive me. But one must
disguise oneself. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range
over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now
hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and
can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place
of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and
portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed.
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