"Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words.
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