Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. “I am perfectly certain that that man meant to be rude to me. Above her head was an aura of white fire. But I don’t wish to hear that abomination on her lips again. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “Why?” “I still love you. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette.
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