"Hear me out," said Jonathan. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her.
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