In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. “No, I administered poisons to you according to the ancient tradition. "I must tell you," she was saying. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Once more cheered by daylight, he hastened forward, and entered the chapel. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort.
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