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. An unwelcome idea came to him. People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations.
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