He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. 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. But it was hopelessly hard to put. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels.
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