The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled.
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