More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. The Old Mint. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. Her unnatural calm was giving way. Telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard.
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