Her father was holding her waist, smiling. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. " "Holloa! my hearty!" cried Ben, starting to his feet. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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