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. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question. It was a moment before he recognised that the effect had been similar on all those present, including General Lord Charvill.
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