Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. They got on wonderfully well together. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. “She has one, that’s why. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. The two hostlers, however, kept close at his heels; and Jack, whose strength began to flag, feared he could not hold much longer.
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