The door closed softly upon her. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. The night was now profoundly dark. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously.
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