Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you.
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