Ann Veronica blushed. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. Brendon was silent. “Let me see,” he said. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t a bit understand.
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