Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. My arm's nearly well again.
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