" He laughed and pushed back his chair. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Once he chuckled aloud. "I understand," she said. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. “Do you know that boy very well, Shar?” Cathy Beck yelled in the general direction of the lavatory. Nice position. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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