Section 3. Thus died Jack Sheppard. Love lives on a higher plane. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. I don’t know what has come over me. She gathered up the chain, revealing a locket which had lain hidden in her bosom. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming.
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