” He drank. Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. ‘Thought it was downright wicked to keep you ignorant of your proper background. .
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