E. ” He caught her wrist and turned her face towards him. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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