His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them.
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