" Jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision. "To the best of my belief, Thames Darrell has been murdered by you. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Please to let me go there. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling.
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