In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. "And now, Mrs. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. I’ve had enough of it. Permit me to make him known to you—Mr. How Jack Sheppard got rid of his Irons. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape. " "Let me see it," cried Thames, snatching it from him. “An Oracle you are! Sebastian never told me he’d made one!” Rhea screamed a scream that was part horror and part laughter.
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