In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. Mirrors. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. ‘You have no idea how dull the militia is compared to the Army. "The nurses," she answered. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. The elusive Jane tapped her on the shoulder after class. —Strype's Stow. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench.
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