"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. Sheppard," cried the thief-taker, as he slipped a pair of handcuffs over Jack's wrists, "for the help you have given us in capturing your son. Any financial return was inconsiderable against the promise of this psychological treat. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with.
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