The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. Jackson and Mr. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Well, he was executed for murder. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. The tide'll bring him to us fast enough. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it.
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