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. Pitt?"
"There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up, "I am Jack
Sheppard. This
circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he
endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his
attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled
one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which
Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have
sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of
vivacity and enjoyment. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning
inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. "I know the house well; by the same token
that it's a flash crib. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish.
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This video was uploaded to image.psikolif.com on 02-07-2024 09:57:31