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Ireton," observed the chief turnkey of Westminster Gatehouse, as he helped himself to his third glass of punch; "but I never saw one like Jack Sheppard. Cathy chimed. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative.
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