Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. ‘Odds were against it. “I’ll get dressed. \" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. Sheppard. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. She had heard of women journalists, women writers, and so forth; but she was not even admitted to the presence of the editors she demanded to see, and by no means sure that if she had been she could have done any work they might have given her.
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