Anna left the room on tiptoe. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. He held in his hands many threads. . Small, but eminently serviceable. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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