In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. ’ Hilary eyed him. But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. "I'll gibbet the rascal. John’s demeanor shifted. His smile faded. I am a little afraid.
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