It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. Prudence Remenham. He understood. But I expect him back every minute. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. ’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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