In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. ” She turned and looked at him. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. It would give me great pleasure if you would dine with me somewhere first.
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