She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. She’d have thrown this thing if you hadn’t stopped her. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ4LjExMi4xMzIgLSAwMy0wNy0yMDI0IDE0OjU0OjA1IC0gNzcwMTg0ODM1
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