” He stroked her hand gently. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. " "Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said Trenchard, sternly,—"to the boy. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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