Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. To vault over the pews was the work of a moment; and having gained the entry leading to the Red Room he passed through the first door; his progress being only impeded by the pile of broken stones, which he himself had raised. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens. If you hang Jack Sheppard, you'll cut off the flower o' the purfession. I'll call for you after lunch.
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