In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. "And now let's see who'll dare to oppose me. My son went down after his death. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing.
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